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Nothing lasts
Last night I finished reading The African Farm. Marvellous book. A nice insight into colonized Kenya and its native world, back in the 20s.
Karen Blixen (aka Isak Dinesen, which is her pen name) spent 15 years of her life trying to grow coffee up in the Ngong Hills, at a stone's throw from Nairobi. 15 years of hardships tempered with moments of intense felicity. She returned to Denmark as she finally went bankrupt.
I enjoyed the book so much that I wished to know more about the writer, buying for the purpose an edition of her correspondence.
The following bit of text is an extract from the introduction :
On her return to Denmark she told a close friend that she was giving herself six months in which to find out whether or not she would be able to live the life she had now been allotted. And if she found it was impossible she would quietly make her exit from life. [...] In a letter to her brother Thomas Dinesen [...] she writes:
... it seems to me that it would in no way be terrible or sad if I [...] were now calmly to retire from life together with everything that I have loved here. [...] It may perhaps be just as hard for Mother to lose me as for me to lose Ngong; but when one comes to realize the whole nature of life, which is that nothing lasts, and that in that very fact lies some of its glory, the sadness of this is really not so terrible. To me it would seem the most natural thing to disappear with my world here, for it seems to me to be [...] vital parts of myself, and I do not know how much of me will survive losing it.
There were times when Karen Blixen could despair over her immediate circumstances and rage against fate, but her nature urged her to be a yea-sayer, no matter what life faced her with. She regarded her life with the eye of a painter, well aware that the dark shadows in the picture were quite essential as the light and the bright colors. Sorrows and adversities were as much a part of the pattern as the rare but never-to-be-forgotten spells of happiness that she had experienced; she may even perhaps have had a partly unconscious need of suffering, because she felt that more than anything else it could mature the artist in her.
My beloved Corto Maltese hanging in the staircase leading to our rooms
La traduction suivra très prochainement.
[15 comments]- A ride
The more I listen to the news, the worse it gets. Genocides, murders, child abuses, rise of prices, corruption and so on. I'm tired of it. Tired. I feel like an old man who's been round the world and, sicken of it, finally decides to retreat on a remote estate where he would spend the rest of his days, growing his garden with passion and stupefying himself with wine.
Here, in our appartment, situated in a quiet area a little outside Vienne (40 km south of Lyons), I feel good. I realise that you don't need much to be happy. Sure I'd like to have more money. Who wouldn't? But what I already possess is enough to ensure felicity as I conceive it.
I have a job which offers perspective. A lovely wife. A bright kid. Another one who's "on the way". I have a well provided wine cellar. I have time to read. And I have time to write.
All I need now is a young mistress. You know, to give it a bit of spice.
The pics were taken on the way which leads to my in-laws. I like riding my motorbike, using tracks whenever I can. It instils a sense of freedom. And I must say, the surrounding countryside is pretty nice. Not like Italian Tuscany, of course, but pretty nice on the whole. When I stop amidst the fields, I'm always moved by the silence. Just the wind sweeping through the crops.
You see the sheep? T'was funny shooting them cose they seemed to deliberately turn their back on me.
Plus j'écoute les nouvelles et plus j'ai le sentiment que les choses dégénèrent. Génocides, meurtres, pédophilie, hausse des prix, corruption et ainsi de suite. Je suis fatigué d'entendre ça. Fatigué. Je me sens comme un vieil homme qui a fait le tour du monde et qui, dégoûté, désire acquérir une propriété isolée pour s'y retirer et finir ses jours à biner ses parterres, un verre de vin à la main.
Ici, dans notre appart situé un peu en dehors de Vienne (à 40 km au sud de Lyon), je me sens bien. Je réalise qu'il ne faut pas beaucoup pour être heureux. Bien sûr, j'aimerais avoir plus d'argent. Qui ne le souhaiterait pas ? Mais ce que je possède déjà est assez pour m'assurer la félicité.
J'ai un job qui m'offre des perspectives. Une épouse adorable et belle. Un gamin intelligent. Un autre qui est 'en cours'. Ma cave à vin est relativement bien fournie. J'ai du temps pour lire. J'ai du temps pour écrire.
Et j'envisage de prendre une maîtresse, histoire de pimenter les choses.
Les photos ont été prises sur la route que je prends en moto pour aller chez mes beaux-parents.
J'aime les chemins de campagne et je les emprunte à chaque fois que j'en ai l'occasion. J'éprouve toujours un sentiment de liberté. Je dois dire que la campagne environnante est belle. Ce n'est pas la Toscane, bien sûr, mais elle est belle. Quand je m'arrête au milieu des champs, je suis toujours ému par le silence. J'aime entendre le vent et voir les céréales onduler sous sa coupe.
Vous voyez les moutons ? C'était amusant de les prendre en photo. J'avais le sentiment qu'ils me tournaient délibérément le dos.
[9 comments]- Felicity
The following pictures depict a moment of felicity as I understand it :
The typical glass of wine - a good book - a quiet, warm evening with a barely perceptible breeze - dim lights - surrounding flowers and plants (amongst which you have scented rosemary and lavender) - a terrace (for lack of a garden) which has a view - and a teak (as opposed to plastic) furniture.
The only black snag is that the manufacture and commerce of teak furniture is a major cause of deforestation in Asia. I cannot but feel a pang of guilt here.
Of course, a beautiful girl sitting by my side would have been a notable addition to the picture, but... Christelle, it is sad to say, was far too busy watching television which we may now get directly via the web! I thought we were rid of it for good... (some of you know that we haven't had television for a whole year. I couldn't be bothered, since we moved in, to pull the cable which is strategically and conveniently hidden behind a sofa).
For those who care, the book I read last night is Karen Blixen's The African Farm. Perhaps you've seen the movie Out of Africa. Well it's her story. Her nom-de-plume (pen name) was Isak Dinesen. The book is interesting as it talks a lot about native mentalities and the impact of white men on the landscape.
A question naturally arose (not for the first time, I'm afraid) :
Do we have to spoil absolutely everything we touch? Or should we accept it and call it fatality?
Les trois premières photos incarnent la félicité telle que je la conçois :
Le classique verre de vin - un bon livre - la caresse tiède d'une brize à peine perceptible - des lumières tamisées - une terrasse (à défaut d'un jardin) avec vue, parée de verdure - un mobilier en tek (exit le plastique : j'exècre cette matière).
Naturellement, le tek souffre de ses vertus. C'est un bois qui ne fait pas l'objet d'un renouvellement planifié dans les pays d'Asie et j'éprouve toujours un certain malaise à l'idée de savoir que mon plaisir égoïste contribue à la déforestation.
Une jolie fille sise à mes cotés aurait sans nul doute complété ce merveilleux tableau. Christelle, toutefois, n'a pas résisté à la tentation de se scotcher devant l'écran de notre ordinateur, étant donné qu'il est maintenant possible de visionner certaines chaînes via le web. Pour mémoire, cela faisait un an que nous étions privé de télévision. L'appartement est muni d'un câble, mais je n'ai jamais souhaité raccorder ce dernier.
Pour ceux que cela intéresse, le livre que je suis en train de lire s'intitule La ferme africaine, de Karen Blixen. Une collection de récits authentiques dont on a fait un film un peu romancé : Out of Africa. Un bel aperçu de l'Afrique coloniale anglaise. Karen nous décrit sans a priori la mentalité des autochtones et relate les dégradations générées par la "civilisation".
Une question que je me pose sans cesse : Doit-on absolument et systématiquement ruiner tout ce que l'on touche ? Doit-on accepter le changement et l'appeler fatalité ?
[10 comments]